LAST WORK OF THE WINTER--BIRDS AND FLOWERS OF SPRING CONTINUOUS
DAYLIGHT--SOCIAL LIFE IN GIZHIGA--A CURIOUS SICKNESS--SUMMER DAYS AND
NIGHTS--NEWS FROM AMERICA
The months of April and May, owing to the great length of the days
and the comparative mildness of the weather, are the most favourable
months in north-eastern Siberia for outdoor work and travel; and as
the Company's vessels could not be expected to arrive at Gizhiga
before the early part of June, Major Abaza determined to make the
most of the intervening time. As soon as he had recovered a little,
therefore, from the fatigue of his journey, he started with Bush,
Macrae, and the Russian governor, for Anadyrsk, intending to
engage there fifty or sixty native labourers and begin at once the
construction of station-houses and the cutting and distribution of
poles along the Anadyr River. My own efforts to that end, owing to the
laziness of the Anadyrsk people, had been unsuccessful; but it
was hoped that through the influence and cooperation of the civil
authority something might perhaps be done.
Major Abaza returned by the very last winter road in May. His
expedition had been entirely successful; Mr. Bush had been put in
command of the Northern District from Penzhina to Bering Strait, and
he, together with Macrae, Harder, and Smith, had been left at Anadyrsk
for the summer. As soon as the Anadyr River should open, this party
was directed to descend it in canoes to its mouth, and there await
the arrival of one of the Company's vessels from San Francisco, with
reinforcements and supplies. In the meantime fifty native labourers
from Anadyrsk, Osolkin, and Pokorukof, had been hired and placed at
their disposal, and it was hoped that by the time the ice should be
out of the river they would have six or eight station-houses prepared,
and several thousand poles cut, ready for distribution in rafts
between the settlements of Anadyrsk and the Pacific coast. Having thus
accomplished all that it was possible to accomplish with the limited
means and force at his disposal, Major Abaza returned to Gizhiga,
to await the arrival of the promised vessels from America with men,
material, and supplies, for the prosecution of the work.
The season for dog-sledge travel was now over; and as the country
afforded no other means of interior transportation, we could not
expect to do any more work, or have any further communication with
our outlying parties at Anadyrsk and Okhotsk until the arrival of
our vessels. We therefore rented for ourselves a little log house
overlooking the valley, of the Gizhiga River, furnished it as
comfortably as possible with a few plain wooden chairs and tables,
hung up our maps and charts on the rough log-walls, displayed our
small library of two books--Shakespeare and the New Testament--as
advantageously as possible in one corner, and prepared for at least a
month of luxurious idleness.
It was now June. The snow was rapidly disappearing under the influence
of the warm long-continued sunshine; the ice in the river showed
unmistakable signs of breaking up; patches of bare ground appeared
here and there along the sunny hillsides, and everything foretold the
speedy approach of the short but hot arctic summer. Winter in most
parts of north-eastern Siberia begins to break up in May, and summer
advances with rapid strides upon its retreating footsteps, covering
instantly with grass and flowers the ground that it reclaims from
the melting snow-drifts of winter. Hardly is the snow off the ground
before the delicate wax-like petals of the blueberry and star-flower,
and the great snowy clusters of labrador tea begin to whiten the mossy
plains; the birches, willows, and alders burst suddenly into leaf, the
river banks grow green with a soft carpet of grass, and the warm still
air is filled all day with the trumpet-like cries of wild swans and
geese, as they come in great triangular flocks from the sea and
pass high overhead toward the far North. In three weeks after the
disappearance of the last snow all Nature has put on the garments of
midsummer and rejoices in almost perpetual sunshine. There is no long
wet, lingering spring, no gradual unfolding of buds and leaves one by
one as with us. The vegetation, which has been held in icy fetters
for eight long months, bursts suddenly its bonds, and with one great
irresistible sweep takes the world by storm. There is no longer any
night; one day blends almost imperceptibly into another, with only a
short interval of twilight, which has all the coolness and repose of
night without its darkness. You may sit by your open window and read
until twelve o'clock, inhaling the fragrance of flowers which is
brought to you on the cool night wind, listening to the murmur and
plash of the river in the valley below, and tracing the progress of
the hidden sun by the flood of rosy light which streams up in the
North from behind the purple mountains. It is broad daylight, and yet
all Nature is asleep, and a strange mysterious stillness, like that
of a solar eclipse, pervades heaven and earth. You can even hear the
faint roar of the surf on the rocky coast ten miles away. Now and then
a song-sparrow hidden in the alder thicket by the river bank dreams
that it is morning and breaks out into a quick unconscious trill of
melody; but as he wakes he stops himself suddenly and utters a few
"peeps" of perplexity, as if not quite sure whether it be morning, or
only last evening, and whether he ought to sing or go to sleep again.
He finally seems to decide upon the latter course, and all becomes
silent once more save the murmur of the river over its rocky bed and
the faint roar of the distant sea. Soon after one o'clock a glittering
segment of the sun appears between the cloud-like peaks of the distant
mountains, a sudden flash of golden light illumines the green dewy
landscape, the little sparrow in the alder thicket triumphantly takes
up again his unfinished song, the ducks, geese, and aquatic birds
renew their harsh discordant cries from the marshy flats along the
river, and all animated nature wakes suddenly to a consciousness of
daylight as if it were a new thing. There has been no night--but it is
another day.
The traveller who has never before experienced an arctic summer, and
who has been accustomed to think of Siberia as a land of eternal snow
and ice, cannot help being astonished at the sudden and wonderful
development of animal and vegetable life throughout that country in
the month of June, and the rapidity of the transition from winter to
summer in the course of a few short weeks. In the early part of June
it is frequently possible to travel in the vicinity of Gizhiga upon
dog-sledges, while by the last of the same month the trees are all in
full leaf, primroses, cowslips, buttercups, valerian, cinquefoil, and
labrador tea, blossom everywhere upon the higher plains and river
banks, and the thermometer at noon frequently reaches 70° Fahr. in the
shade. There is no spring, in the usual acceptation of the word, at
all. The disappearance of snow and the appearance of vegetation are
almost simultaneous; and although the _tundras_ or moss steppes,
continue for some time to hold water like a saturated sponge, they
are covered with flowers and blossoming blueberry bushes, and show no
traces of the long, cold winter which has so recently ended. In less
than a month after the disappearance of snow in 1860, I collected
from one high plain about five acres in extent, near the mouth of the
Gizhiga River, more than sixty species of flowers. Animal life of all
kinds is equally prompt in making its appearance. Long before the ice
is out of the gulfs and bays along the coast, migratory birds begin to
come in from the sea in immense numbers. Innumerable species of
ducks, geese, and swans--many of them unknown to the American
ornithologist--swarm about every little pool of water in the valleys
and upon the lower plains; gulls, fish-hawks, and eagles, keep up a
continual screaming about the mouths of the numerous rivers; and the
rocky precipitous coast of the sea is literally alive with countless
millions of red-beaked puffin or sea-parrots, which build their nests
in the crevices and upon the ledges of the most inaccessible cliffs,
and at the report of a pistol fly in clouds which fairly darken the
air. Besides these predatory and aquatic birds, there are many others
which are not so gregarious in their habits, and which, consequently,
attract less notice. Among these are the common barn and chimney
swallows, crows, ravens, magpies, thrushes, plover, ptarmigan, and
a kind of grouse known to the Russians as "teteref." Only one
singing-bird, as far as I know, is to be found in the country, and
that is a species of small ground-sparrow which frequents the drier
and more grassy plains in the vicinity of the Russian settlements.
The village of Gizhiga, where we had temporarily established our
headquarters, was a small settlement of perhaps fifty or sixty plain
log houses, situated upon the left bank of the Gizhiga River, eight or
ten miles from the gulf. It was at that time one of the most important
and flourishing settlements upon the coast of the Okhotsk Sea, and
controlled all the trade of north-eastern Siberia as far north at the
Anadyr and as far west as the village of Okhotsk. It was the residence
of a local governor, the headquarters of four or five Russian
merchants, and was visited annually by a government supply steamer,
and several trading vessels belonging to wealthy American houses.
Its population consisted principally of Siberian Cossacks and the
descendants of compulsory emigrants from Russia proper, who had
received their freedom as compensation for forcible expatriation.
Like all other _settled_ inhabitants of Siberia and Kamchatka, they
depended for their subsistence principally upon fish; but as the
country abounded in game, and the climate and soil in the valley of
the Gizhiga River permitted the cultivation of the hardier kinds of
garden vegetables, their condition was undoubtedly much better than
it would have been in Russia proper. They were perfectly free, could
dispose of their time and services as they chose, and by hiring
themselves and their dog-sledges to Russian traders in the winter,
they earned money enough to keep themselves supplied with the simpler
luxuries, such as tea, sugar, and tobacco, throughout the year. Like
all the inhabitants of Siberia, and indeed like all Russians, they
were extremely hospitable, good-natured, and obliging, and they
contributed not a little to our comfort and amusement during the long
months which we were obliged to spend in their far-away isolated
settlement.
The presence of Americans in a village so little frequented by
strangers as Gizhiga had a very enlivening influence upon society,
and as soon as the inhabitants ascertained by experiment that these
distinguished sojourners did not consider it beneath their dignity to
associate with the _prostoi narod_, or common people, they overwhelmed
us with invitations to tea-parties and evening dances. Anxious to see
more of the life of the people, and glad to do anything which would
diversify our monotonous existence, we made it a point to accept every
such invitation which we received, and many were the dances which
Arnold and I attended during the absence of the Major and the Russian
governor at Anadyrsk. We had no occasion to ask our Cossack Yagór when
there was to be another dance. The question was rather, "Where is the
dance to be tonight?" because we knew to a certainty that there would
be one somewhere, and wished only to know whether the house in which
it was to be held had a ceiling high enough to insure the safety of
our heads. It would seem like a preposterous idea to invite people to
dance the Russian jig in a room which was too low to permit a man of
average stature to stand upright; but it did not seem at all so to
these enthusiastic pleasure-seekers in Gizhiga, and night after night
they would go hopping around a seven-by-nine room to the music of a
crazy fiddle and a two-stringed guitar, stepping on one another's toes
and bumping their heads against the ceiling with the most cheerful
equanimity imaginable. At these dancing parties the Americans always
received a hearty welcome, and were fed with berries, black-bread, and
tea, until they could eat and dance no more. Occasionally, however,
Siberian hospitality took a form which, to say the least, was not
altogether pleasant. For instance, Dodd and I were invited one evening
to some kind of an entertainment at the house of one of the Cossacks,
and, as was customary in such cases, our host set before us a plain
lunch of black-bread, salt, raw frozen fish, and a small pepper-sauce
bottle about half full of some liquid which he declared to be vodka.
Knowing that there was no liquor in the settlement except what we
had, Dodd inquired where he had obtained it. He replied with evident
embarrassment that it was some which he had bought from a trading
vessel the previous fall, and which he had reserved for cases
of emergency! I didn't believe that there was a Cossack in all
north-eastern Siberia who was capable of _reserving_ a bottle of
liquor for any such length of time, and in view of his evident
uneasiness we thought best to decline to partake of the liquid
refreshments and to ask no further questions. It might be vodka, but
it was not free from suspicion. Upon our return home I called our boy
and inquired if he knew anything about the Cossack's liquor--how he
obtained it, and where it came from at that season of the year, when
none of the Russian merchants had any for sale. The boy hesitated a
moment, but upon being questioned closely he explained the mystery. It
appeared that the liquor was ours. Whenever any of the inhabitants of
the village came to call upon us, as they frequently did, especially
upon holidays, it was customary to give each one of them a drink.
Taking advantage of this custom, our friend the Cossack used to
provide himself with a small bottle, hang it about his neck with a
string, conceal it under his fur coat, and present himself at our
house every now and then for the ostensible purpose of congratulating
us upon some Russian holiday. Of course we were expected to reward
this disinterested sociability with a drink. The Cossack would swallow
all he could of the fiery stuff, and then holding as much as possible
in his mouth he would make a terrible grimace, cover his face with one
hand as if the liquor were very strong, and start hurriedly for the
kitchen to get some water. As soon as he was secure from observation
he would take out his bottle, deposit in it the last mouthful of
liquor which he had _not_ swallowed, and return in a few-moments to
thank us for our hospitality--and our vodka. This manoeuvre he had
been practising at our expense for an unknown length of time, and had
finally accumulated nearly a pint. He then had the unblushing audacity
to set this half-swallowed vodka before us in an old pepper-sauce
bottle, and pretend that it was some that he had reserved since
the previous fall for cases of emergency! Could human impudence go
farther?
I will relate one other incident which took place during the first
month of our residence at Gizhiga, and which illustrates another phase
of the popular character, viz. extreme superstition. As I was sitting
in the house one morning, drinking tea, I was interrupted by the
sudden entrance of a Russian Cossack named Kolmagórof. He seemed to
be unusually sober and anxious about something, and as soon as he had
bowed and bade me good-morning, he turned to our Cossack, Viushin,
and began in a low voice to relate to him something which had just
occurred, and which seemed to be of great interest to them both. Owing
to my imperfect knowledge of the language, and the low tone in which
the conversation was carried on, I failed to catch its purport; but
it closed with an earnest request from Kolmagórof that Viushin should
give him some article of clothing, which I understood to be a scarf or
tippet. Viushin immediately went to a little closet in one corner of
the room, where he was in the habit of storing his personal effects,
dragged out a large sealskin bag, and began searching in it for the
desired article. After pulling out three or four pair of fur boots,
a lump of tallow, some dogskin stockings, a hatchet, and a bundle of
squirrelskins, he finally produced and held up in triumph one-half
of an old, dirty, moth-eaten woollen tippet, and handing it to
Kolmagórof, he resumed his search for the missing piece. This also he
presently found, in a worse state of preservation, if possible, than
the other. They looked as if they had been discovered in the bag of
some poor rag-picker who had fished them up out of a gutter in the
Five Points. Kolmagórof tied the two pieces together, wrapped them up
carefully in an old newspaper, thanked Viushin for his trouble, and,
with an air of great relief, bowed again to me and went out. Wondering
what use he could make of such a worn, dirty, tattered article of
clothing as that which he had received, I applied to Viushin for a
solution of the mystery.
"What did he want that tippet for?" I inquired; "it isn't good for
anything."
"I know," replied Viushin, "it is a miserable old thing; but there is
no other in the village, and his daughter has got the 'Anadyrski bol'"
(Anadyrsk sickness).
"Anadyrski bol!" I repeated in astonishment, never having heard of the
disease in question; "what has the 'Anadyrski bol' got to do with an
old tippet?"
"Why, you see, his daughter has asked for a tippet, and as she has
the Anadyrsk sickness, they must get one for her. It don't make any
difference about its being old."
This struck me as being a very singular explanation of a very curious
performance, and I proceeded to question Viushin more closely as to
the nature of this strange disease, and the manner in which an old
moth-eaten tippet could afford relief. The information which I
gathered was briefly as follows: The "Anadyrski bol," so called from
its having originated at Anadyrsk, was a peculiar form of disease,
resembling very much the modern spiritual "trance," which had long
prevailed in north-eastern Siberia, and which defied all ordinary
remedies and all usual methods of treatment. The persons attacked by
it, who were generally women, became unconscious of all surrounding
things, acquired suddenly an ability to speak languages which they
had never heard, particularly the Yakut language, and were gifted
temporarily with a sort of second sight or clairvoyance which enabled
them to describe accurately objects that they could not see and never
had seen. While in this state they would frequently ask for some
particular thing, whose appearance and exact location they would
describe, and unless it were brought to them they would apparently go
into convulsions, sing in the Yakut language, utter strange cries,
and behave generally as if they were insane. Nothing could quiet
them until the article for which they had asked was produced. Thus
Kolmagórof's daughter had imperatively demanded a woollen tippet,
and as the poor Cossack had nothing of the sort in the house, he
had started out through the village to find one. This was all the
information that Viushin could give me. He had never seen one of these
possessed persons himself, and had only heard of the disease from
others; but he said that Paderin, the chief of the Gizhiga Cossacks,
could undoubtedly tell me all about it, as his daughter had been
similarly afflicted. Surprised to find among the ignorant peasantry of
north-eastern Siberia a disease whose symptoms resembled so closely
the phenomena of modern spiritualism, I determined to investigate
the subject as far as possible, and as soon as the Major came in,
I persuaded him to send for Paderin. The chief of the Cossacks--a
simple, honest old fellow, whom it was impossible to suspect of
intentional deception--confirmed all that Viushin had told me, and
gave us many additional particulars. He said that he had frequently
heard his daughter talk the Yakut language while in one of these
trances, and had even known her to relate events which were occurring
at a distance of several hundred miles. The Major inquired how he knew
that it was the Yakut language which his daughter spoke. He said he
did not know certainly that it was; but it was not Russian, nor Korak,
nor any other native language with which he was familiar, and it
sounded very much like Yakut. I inquired what was done in case the
sick person demanded some article which it was impossible to obtain.
Paderin replied that he had never heard of such an instance; if the
article asked for were an uncommon one, the girl always stated where
it was to be found--frequently describing with the greatest minuteness
things which, so far as he knew, she had never seen. On one occasion,
he said his daughter asked for a particular spotted dog which he was
accustomed to drive in his team. The dog was brought into the room,
and the girl at once became quiet; but from that time the dog itself
became so wild and restless as to be almost unmanageable, and he was
finally obliged to kill him. "And do you believe in all this stuff?"
broke in the Major impatiently, as Paderin hesitated for a moment.
"I believe in God and in our Saviour Jesus Christ," replied the
Cossack, as he crossed himself devoutly.
"That's all right, and so you ought," rejoined the Major; "but that
has nothing whatever to do with the 'Anadyrski bol.' Do you really
believe that these women talk in the Yakut language, which they have
never heard, and describe things which they have never seen?"
[Illustration: TUNGUSES ON REINDEER-BACK MOVING THEIR ENCAMPMENT
Photograph in The American Museum of Natural History]
Paderin shrugged his shoulders expressively and said that he believed
what he saw. He then proceeded to relate to us further and still more
incredible particulars as to the symptoms of the disease, and the
mysterious powers which it developed in the persons attacked,
illustrating his statements by reference to the case of his own
daughter. He was evidently a firm believer in the reality of the
sickness, but would not say to what agency he ascribed the phenomena
of second sight and the ability to speak strange languages, which were
its most remarkable symptoms.
During the day we happened to call upon the ispravnik or Russian
governor, and in course of conversation mentioned the "Anadyrski bol,"
and related some of the stories which we had heard from Paderin. The
ispravnik--skeptical upon all subjects, and especially upon this--said
that he had often heard of the disease, and that his wife was a
firm believer in it, but that in his opinion it was a humbug, which
deserved no other treatment than severe corporal punishment. The
Russian peasantry, he said, were very superstitious and would believe
almost anything, and the "Anadyrski bol" was partly a delusion and
partly an imposition practised by the women upon their male relatives
to further some selfish purpose. A woman who wanted a new bonnet, and
who could not obtain it by the ordinary method of teasing, found it
very convenient as a _dernier ressort_ to fall into a trance state and
demand a bonnet as a physiological necessity. If the husband still
remained obdurate, a few well-executed convulsions and a song or two
in the so-called Yakut language were generally sufficient to bring him
to terms. He then related an instance of a Russian merchant whose wife
was attacked by the "Anadyrski bol," and who actually made a winter
journey from Gizhiga to Yamsk--a distance of 300 versts--to procure a
silk dress for which she had asked and which could not be elsewhere
obtained! Of course the women do not always ask for articles which
they might be supposed to want in a state of health. If they did, it
would soon arouse the suspicions of their deluded husbands, fathers,
and brothers, and lead to inconvenient inquiries, if not to still more
unpleasant experiment, upon the character of the mysterious disease.
To avoid this, and to blind the men to the real nature of the
deception, the women frequently ask for dogs, sledges, axes, and other
similar articles of which they can make no possible use, and thus
persuade their credulous male relatives that their demands are
governed only by diseased caprice and have in view no definite object.
Such was the rationalistic explanation which the ispravnik gave of the
curious delusion known as the "Anadyrski bol"; and although it argued
more subtlety on the part of the women and more credulity on the part
of the men than I had supposed either sex to be capable of, I could
not but admit that the explanation was a plausible one, and accounted
satisfactorily for most of the phenomena.
In view of this remarkable piece of feminine strategy, our
strong-minded women in America must admit that their Siberian sisters
show greater ingenuity in obtaining their rights and throwing dust in
the eyes of their lords and masters than has yet been exhibited by all
the Women's Rights Associations in Christendom. To invent an imaginary
disease with such peculiar symptoms, cause it to prevail as an
epidemic throughout a whole country, and use it as a lever to open
the masculine pocketbooks and supply feminine wants, is the greatest
triumph which woman's craft has ever achieved over man's stupidity.
The effect of the ispravnik's revelation upon Dodd was very singular.
He declared that he felt the premonitory symptoms of the "Anadyrski
bol" coming on, and was sure that he was destined to be a victim to
the insidious disease. He therefore requested the Major not to be
surprised if he should come home some day and find him in strong
convulsions, singing "Yankee Doodle" in the Yakut language, and
demanding his back pay! The Major assured him that, in a case of such
desperate emergency, he should be compelled to apply the ispravnik's
remedy, viz., twenty lashes on the bare back, and advised him to
postpone his convulsions until the exchequer of the Siberian Division
should be in a condition to meet his demands.
Our life at Gizhiga during the early part of June was a very decided
improvement upon the experience of the previous six months. The
weather was generally warm and pleasant, the hills and valleys were
green with luxuriant vegetation, daylight had become perpetual, and we
had nothing to do but ramble about the country in pursuit of game, row
down to the mouth of the river occasionally to look for vessels, and
plan all sorts of amusements to pass away the time.
The nights were the most glorious parts of the days, but the perpetual
light seemed even more strange to us at first than the almost
perpetual darkness of winter. We could never decide to our own
satisfaction when one day ended and another began, or when it was
time to go to bed. It seemed ridiculous to make any preparations for
retiring before the sun had set; and yet, if we did not, it was sure
to rise again before we could possibly get to sleep, and then it
seemed just as preposterous to lie in bed as it did in the first
place. We finally compromised the matter by putting tight wooden
shutters over all our windows, and then, by lighting candles inside,
succeeded in persuading our unbelieving senses that it was night,
although the sun outside was shining with noonday brilliancy. When we
awoke, however, another difficulty presented itself. Did we go to bed
today? or was it yesterday? And what time is it now? Today, yesterday,
and to-morrow were all mixed up, and we found it almost impossible to
distinguish one from the other. I caught myself repeatedly making two
entries in my journal in the course of twenty-four hours, with the
mistaken impression that two days had passed.
As soon as the ice was fairly out of Gizhiginsk Gulf, so that vessels
might be expected to enter, Major Abaza caused a number of Cossacks to
be stationed at the mouth of the river, with orders to watch night and
day for sails and warn us at once if any appeared.
On the 18th of June the trading brig _Hallie Jackson_, belonging to
W.H. Bordman, of Boston, entered the gulf, and, as soon as the tide
permitted, ran into the mouth of the river to discharge her cargo.
This vessel brought us the first news from the great outside world
which we had received in more than eleven months, and her arrival was
hailed with the greatest enthusiasm by both Russians and Americans.
Half the population of the village came hurrying down to the mouth of
the river as soon as it became known that a ship had arrived and the
landing-place for several days was a scene of unwonted activity and
excitement. The _Jackson_ could give us no information with regard
to the vessels of our Company, except that when she sailed from San
Francisco in March they were being rapidly loaded and fitted for
sea. She brought, however, all the stores which we had left at
Petropavlovsk the previous fall, as well as a large cargo of tea,
sugar, tobacco, and sundries for the Siberian trade.
We had found by our winter's experience that money could not be used
to advantage in payment for native labour, except in the settlements
of Okhotsk, Gizhiga, and Anadyrsk; and that tea, sugar, and tobacco
were in every way preferable, on account of the universal consumption
of those articles throughout the country and the high price which they
commanded during the winter months. A labourer or teamster, who would
demand _twenty_ roubles _in money_ for a month's work, was entirely
satisfied if we gave him eight pounds of tea and ten pounds of sugar
in its stead; and as the latter cost us only _ten_ roubles, we made
a saving of one-half in all our expenditures. In view of this fact,
Major Abaza determined to use as little money as possible, and pay for
labour in merchandise at current rates. He accordingly purchased from
the _Jackson_ 10,000 lbs. of tea and 15,000 or 20,000 lbs. of white
loaf-sugar, which he stored away in the government magazines, to be
used during the coming winter instead of money.
The _Jackson_ discharged all the cargo that she intended to leave at
Gizhiga, and as soon as the tide was sufficiently high to enable
her to cross the bar at the mouth of the river, she sailed for
Petropavlovsk and left us again alone.